


Keepsake

by ThyCannoli (orphan_account)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Betrayal, Break Up, Canon - TV, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Doting father!Ned, Dream Sex, Dreams and Nightmares, Family Issues, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Little!Robb, Little!Theon, Love Confessions, M/M, Memories, Poetry, Pre-Canon, Pyke, Red Wedding, Sea, Soulmates, Surreal, Symbolism, Synesthesia, Teenagers, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 03:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12290634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ThyCannoli
Summary: Soulmate AU, in which they share each other's dreams. Robb's POV. Canon compliant.A snippet:/Robb jumps in fright and falls, down, down, down, until he’s lying on the ground, whiteness all around him.There’s another boy next to him, sitting with his legs folded under himself.“Finally.” The boy says and smiles. “I’ve waited months for you to catch up.”/





	Keepsake

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains: surrealism, dreamesque laws of physics, recurring dreams, lecherous Theon, smitten Robb.  
> Does not contain: detailed explanations of what's happening. Be warned, the whole thing is in dreamspace.
> 
> That said, please enjoy reading!

Robb has heard of the White Walkers, but he has never pictured their soulless eyes quite so clearly. They don’t blink, their gaze never wavers as they stand there, unmoved. The snow’s falling steadily, but not one drop reaches the ground. They get caught up in weirwood trees so high that Robb barely sees the sky. One of the walkers points at him and its finger bears pale spiders that swarm out like blood floods from a cut throat. They are coming for Robb. There’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, his feet are frozen into the snowy ground and the Night King is watching his demise with icy calm.

“Wake up.” Someone calls out to him from behind. Robb’s head whips around, but he sees nothing, feels nothing. “Wake up.”

* * *

 

Robb’s walking on snow so deep it covers the top of the stables. He’s feather-light, flying over the heads of kitchen maids and septas up to their necks in that cool, white blanket. He blinks up at the sky and sees the stars moving, a wolf-constellation chasing a hare through endless black plains.

“Are you always this cold?”

Robb jumps in fright and falls, down, down, down, until he’s lying on the ground, whiteness all around him.

There’s another boy next to him, sitting with his legs folded under himself.

“Finally.” The boy says and smiles. “I’ve waited _months_ for you to catch up.”

“Who are you? Where am I?” Robb’s starting to panic. Winterfell’s walls are crumbling around them, giant rocks falling from the sky.

“Stop!” The other boy exclaims. “You’re ruining it!”

He reaches out, but Robb scrambles away and the boy fades.

* * *

 

The crypts are dark and moist, faintly smelling of mildew. A torch burns at the end of the long corridor. Aunt Lyanna’s statue is crying a river that streams up the stairs.

“God, take a piss before you go to sleep next time.”

The boy’s there again. Now that Robb takes a thorough look at him, he seems older.

“Who are you?”

“Who are _you?_ ” The boy asks back suspiciously. “I’ve been dreaming your dreams for half a year now. It’s only fair you tell me first.”

“I’m Robb Stark.”

The other boy considers him for a minute, then apparently comes to a decision. “Theon Greyjoy.”

He holds out his hand. Robb takes it. Their palms brush and a waterfall bursts through the ceiling.

* * *

 

“Did you wet yourself last night?” Theon smirks at him over the bent neck of Robb’s horse. Robb scowls, scrubbing his mare furiously. “Shut up. It has never happened before.”

“I bet.” Theon grins, but when Robb turns his back at him, he sighs. “I threw up.”

“What?”

“When we woke up. My mother slapped me for it.”

Robb goes over to him and offers him the reins of a beautiful black stud. “I’m sorry.”

Theon shrugs.

“Do you want to ride with me?”

“I’m not very good.” Theon says, but his face lights up.

“I’ll teach you.” Robb promises and the clouds part to reveal an orange dawn. A flock of birds jump away from their route as they gallop through the sunlit Northern scenery, the breeze gently ruffling their hair. Winter’s over and Robb’s not all that cold anymore with someone to share his world with.

* * *

 

“How old are you? Do you live by the sea? Have you ever been to the Wall?”

“Whoa, whoa, hold your horses.” Theon smiles at him. “Let’s agree on something. One question a night.”

Robb nods. “All right. How old are you? I’m eight.”

Theon kicks a stone into the lake in front of them. “I’m nine.”

“I thought you were older.”

“And I thought you were younger.”

“Hey!”

“What? You’re scrawny.”

Robb charges at him and they roll around laughing on a meadow of flowers. They splay over a bunch of daisies, catching their breaths. Theon throws his arms above his head. “I love summer.”

* * *

 

“Theon!” Robb’s running through long, gloomy corridors that keep turning back into themselves. Nothing seems familiar, but he doesn’t care, he has to find Theon. “Guess what! My father’s coming home!”

He shouts excitedly and bounds up a flight of stairs he’s gone over four times already. “Where are you? Theon, I need to talk to you!”

The sky’s darkening and Robb doesn’t understand, isn’t this his dream? His sky must be brighter, because Father is coming! The thought makes him stop and without his steps echoing through the halls, he hears it. _Scratch. Cough. Sob._ Something’s hiding in an alcove he has not seen before. He peers over the edge and spots Theon, curled up and shaking.

“Theon?” He calls out timidly, hands fisting in his tunic.

“Leave me alone.” Theon sniffs and presses his tearful face against his knees. Robb’s confused. What’s wrong? Theon doesn’t want his father to come home?

“But -”

“Leave me alone!” Theon yells and Robb is outside all at once, staring at an unknown castle’s black walls looming above him.

* * *

 

The salt is so thick in the air Robb can pick a basket of chrystals straight out of the wind. He admires their rose-pale shine and molds them into a sword with a wolf on its handle. His feet dangle into an abyss from the wall of that same dark castle. Theon’s down there, he knows, hiding. Crying, maybe. He hasn’t spoken a word in a week.

Robb plucks another glob of salt, this one blue as the midday sky. It’s impure, too colourful to be anything but - Robb likes it anyway. He kneads a beautiful flower from its pieces, makes it glittering and smooth, then tears off its petals one by one, lets them fall into the chasm.

“Come back.” He calls after each one. ”Come back, Theon.”

* * *

 

“Ned!”

“My lady.”

It’s that moment again, Robb’s mind keeps repeating it even in his sleep. His mother runs into his father’s arms, all of them glad for his lucky return, and happiness beams from every corner of Winterfell. Except for that one spot, where Theon stands, next to a bone-tired horse caked in dirt, so far from the beautiful stud he used to ride on in their dreams.

The sight freezes Robb the way the Night King’s finger did, makes him utterly terrified. His father sweeps him into his arms and kisses his cheek, holds him close and breathes into his skin, _’my son’._ Robb forgets to tell him he’s not a snotty brat anymore, he forgets to tell him how much they missed him at home.

“Did you forget me already, Robb?” His father asks, laughing, just like he did in the real world, and Robb answers the same he did there. “I could never, Father.”

Ned Stark smiles and ruffles his hair, but Robb can only stare at the tear-tracks glowing white on Theon’s dust-covered face.

* * *

 

 _”Aaaaa!”_ Theon shouts and throws rock after rock into a strict-looking man’s face. They glance off of him like swordcuts off a breastplate. His stoic expression doesn’t morph into a sneer, or a smile, or a frown, anything - it remains hard as the carnival masks Old Nan’s been telling them about.

 _“You gave me away!”_ Theon goes on. _“You gave away your only son, you - heartless - fucking - bastard! I hate you!”_ His last rock falls from his fingers and uselessly plomps into the grass when Theon collapses, as if someone has cut him from his strings.

Robb runs over to him and carefully hugs him to his chest. Theon soaks his shirt with an ocean of tears.

“Robb…” He cries. “I wanna go home. Please.”

Robb shushes him, combs his hair out of his forehead and rocks them into oblivion, a dreamless sort of sleep.

* * *

 

Curtains whoosh and fall heavily on every side of the room, silk, velvet, cambric, brocade. Robb’s lying in the middle, watching the fabric move.

“Did you sneak into Sansa’s closet again?”

Robb sits up so fast his head spins. Theon is sitting on a stool made of forest green chiffon. This is their first real dream in a year, their first dream after the nightmare that was Theon arriving to Winterfell.

“I missed you.” Robb whispers. He averts his eyes when Theon walks over, but he lets him take his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

The nail on Theon’s thumb is bitten raw and chewed on, an uneven line in contrast to Robb’s intact fingertips. Robb follows its movements, takes note of the pressure its pad applies when it strokes over his knuckle. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

* * *

 

“I can’t, Robb. Your mother wouldn’t like to see me in there.” Jon explains again.

“I’m sure she would be amenable.”

“It’s alright, I like to eat here anyway. Less noise.”

They see him dig into his food, a lot plainer than the meals offered to Robb, or even Theon. Nonetheless, he looks happy, surrounded by cooks and stable boys.

“Do you ever wish he was your brother?” Theon asks as they stroll back into the main hall. His father’s laughing at a joke Greatjon Umber has cracked, lackeys lining up in the doorway with greedy longing in their eyes.

“He already is.”

“But he’s a bastard.”

“He is my _brother_.” Robb glares at Theon with sudden anger. “And what do you know anyway? You never had a sibling.”

“Wrong.” Theon replies, voice cold and sharp like Valyrian steel. “I had three.”

* * *

 

The next time they dream Theon remembers his brothers. They are tall, strong and rugged, with tattoos curling over their forearms. They remind Robb of the strict man with a mask as a face.

“I wanna play with you.” Little memory-Theon says, gawking at the dices on the crate his brothers are playing on.

“Fuck off.”

“I already know the rules, you don’t have to teach me.”

“I said fuck off, Theon. How can you be this dumb?”

“But -” The bigger one stands up, upending his chair and cracking his neck.

“I’m gonna hit you if you keep whining.”

“Please, Maron -”

“You asked for it.”

 

The memory breaks into tiny cubes that roll down the slope they are standing on. Theon stares after them as if he has seen a ghost.

“They died fighting your father and his army.”

Robb wants to say he’s sorry, but he can’t. He’s not sorry that Father punished those who broke their oath, he’s not sorry Father has won and come back. He’s not sorry those two will never hit Theon again.

“Did you know they don’t write to me? My father and my mother.”

That makes Robb inexplicably sad. If she had to give him away, his mother would write to him every day, every single day, he knows. And Father wouldn’t let him go, he would fight for Robb with every heartbeat. “Do you miss them?”

Theon shrugs. “They were the only family I had.”

“I can be your family.”

The corners of Theon’s mouth curl up. “You want another brother?”

Robb doesn’t even think about it. “I want you.”

* * *

 

Harsh wind blows around their heads, making Robb shudder. He watches the knife as it cuts into his wrist, as it draws a thin red line into flesh. Theon’s hand is already slippery with it when their palms slide together. They look into each other’s eyes and Robb thinks he hears a lone wolf howl. Their blood knots into a dripping bow around their clasped hands.

“Now and always.”

“Now and always.”

* * *

 

They are on the seashore, Robb guesses. Never in his life has he seen that much water - it looks ominous, scary.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Theon yells back, knee deep in the waves.

“Who?”

“The sea!”

In a way, it is. Dangerous, quiet, but so, so beautiful. Robb breathes in and smells strength, salt and freedom. He wonders what kinds of beasts live in there, how many poor souls has it swallowed? Where is its end?

“Do you like it here?”

He blinks out of his reverie. Theon has come back with pearl-white shells in his hands. He offers one to Robb, who takes it, wipes a finger on its empty inside.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I can bring you more often.” Theon admits very quietly. “I’ve wanted to, _before_ , but…” He trails off, shrugging.

Robb stares at the freckles that appeared on his nose. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

They come to the coast every week, sometimes even more often. There are days when it’s the only place that gives Theon some semblance of peace. He’s dreaming up a new wonder every time for Robb to find, shares a part of that far away life in their secret world. Robb learns about ships, hooks and intricate knots, about whales and swordfish and sharks. He learns about the kraken, monster of the sea, about tentacles that pull you under mountains of water. But Theon has never taken him into a thunderstorm before.

It’s a raging, booming fiend that tosses their tiny ship around on the shoreless, suffocating darkness. Theon’s standing on the prow, laughing maniacally in rain that falls up from below.

When Robb tries to shake him out if it, he pushes him to the deck, not laughing anymore.

“My mother’s dead.” He bellows in grief and the thunder roars back.

* * *

 

On his thirteenth nameday, Robb doesn’t get out of his bed. The world’s spinning around, around, around and he’s not sure which is dreamland and which is reality. It’s too hot and too cold, and Maester Luwin should just tell Father to leave him for a while, because he can hear a siege going on, the enemy’s banging on the Hunter’s Gate. His mother weeps tiny yellow butterflies, but when he tries to catch them, lead manacles weight down his arms. Theon appears and disappears from time to time, holds Robb’s hand, gives him a drink that turns into liquid fire in his throat. He’s buried under sand on the seashore when a voice fills his head, maybe one of the old gods speaking from above.

“He’s going to pull through, my lady.”

* * *

 

“It was pretty bad, you know. Your fever was so high you had visions about things that weren’t there.” Theon tells him as they relax on a meadow of flowers, beside a bunch of daisies. For the past days, Robb has been too exhausted for new adventures, even in his dreams, so Theon takes them back to quiet, familiar places.

“They didn’t let me in to see you.” Theon says bitterly, his fingers tearing at the grass. “I had no clue if you were dead or alive.”

Robb nods, following a glass bee with his eyes. The summer sunshine feels like a caress on his cheek and he can smell the seasalt scent of Theon’s hair.

“So I tried to sleep the entire day.” Robb turns his head to the side, Theon stares back at him. “And now that stupid Snow thinks you matter to me so little that I would happily laze around while you are fighting for your very life.”

“I know that’s not true.” Robb whispers. His voice’s too weak, but he writes the words into the breeze with his nicest cursive and sends them into Theon’s ear.

“I just wanted to be there for you.”

“You were, always.”

* * *

 

The old oakwood door opens into a golden hall with golden armours lining the walls. Robb hears emerald music and lilac laughter, sees people talking in fancy dresses in every corner.

“Psst.” Someone calls from the side. Robb turns, finds a drapery that shows a kraken reaching for a wolf. He shoves it aside and reveals a small nook, barely enough for one person.

“Theon?”

“Yeah, yeah, get your ass in here.”

Theon rasps out and pulls Robb inside by the front of his coat.

“Who are we hiding from?”

“Your sister.”

Robb snorts. “Arya’s going to find us in no time.”

“Not her.” Theon huffs, irritated. His fingers are still fisted in Robb’s clothes. “Sansa.”

“ _Sansa?_ Why, she might hit us with her vicious needlework, or what?”

“She wants to kiss me.”

Robb lets out a full bellied laugh and earns himself a nasty glare with it.

“It’s not funny!”

“You don’t want to be kissed? _You?_ ”

“I’m fourteen, of course I want to get kissed.”

The music picks up outside and there’s Sansa, a boy and a girl doll in her hands, and she’s searching for someone, all right. Theon shuffles closer, his front pressed to Robb’s back.

“But?” Robb whispers, for some reason leaning against Theon’s chest. He has no idea why, but he wants to get more of that warmth he radiates.

“But I don’t… I don’t want her to be my first.”

Theon’s uncharacteristically shy about it. Robb frowns and reaches up to touch the hand Theon still has on his shirt. They watch as dream-Sansa twirls in front of Lady Karstark, Robb’s mother smiling fondly at the sight.

“You don’t like her?”

Robb breaks the silence at last. He feels a puff of breath at the back of his neck when Theon sighs. It makes Robb’s heart drum an erratic beat against his ribcage. Their fingers tangle and all of a sudden it’s very, very hot in the little niche.

“She’s cute enough, I guess. But I sort of like somebody else already.”

Robb’s stomach feels queasy at that. “Who is it? Do I know her?”

For a second, he thinks Theon’s going to say it. But instead of answering, his hands fly to Robb’s armpits and start a merciless tickling war that eventually ends with dream-Sansa finding them.

* * *

 

They are back on the flower-meadow with its daisies winking at them enticingly. Theon’s throwing pebbles into the lake, his shirt lying in the grass next to him.

“Wanna make a bet, Robb?”

“Sure.”

“I bet you I can bounce this pebble nine times before it sinks.”

“Okay.” Stone skipping has never been Theon’s forte anyway.

“The winner gets anything he wishes for tonight.”

“Then I should warn you, I’m craving an entire cake right now.”

Theon throws his head back in laughter. “Since when are you this hungry all the fucking time?”

“Since I can see over your giant head.”

“Yeah, you’ve got bigger.” Theon smirks. “But that doesn’t mean you’re any smarter.”

With that, he casts the stone. While Robb’s too busy admiring his rippling muscles, the water transforms into glass that shatters back into water after the ninth bounce of the pebble.

“You cheated!” Robb exclaims, punching Theon in the shoulder. Theon just keeps on laughing.

“What do you want?” Robb grumbles, crossing his arms and pouting. Theon’s grin gentles into something soft, mysterious. “I want you to close your eyes.”

Robb gives him a suspicious glare, but obediently shuts his eyelids. For a moment nothing happens. Birdsong drifts their way from the nearby forest and a bug zooms above Robb’s head, the trees whisper secrets into the wind as they brush against each other. Then something cool touches Robb’s face and he jumps, but it’s only Theon’s palm cupping his cheek.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.” Robb mumbles. Wet-soft lips press against his own and he gasps, feels that warm mouth swallow his sigh. Theon’s thumb brushes over his temple. They kiss each other quietly in summer sunshine and Robb floats without his feet ever leaving the ground.

* * *

 

“You didn’t remember. In the real world you didn’t remember.” Robb accuses, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of his voice.

Theon looks him in the eye. “No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Fat drops of rain start falling onto Robb’s face, little Rickon’s wailing behind them about Bran stealing his toy. “This is a dream, Robb. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But I remember everything!”

“Maybe my mind knows better.”

“What do you mean?” Robb demands, stomping closer in the mud. “Theon, what do you mean?”

A shallow pool of swampy water forms in front of them, Theon watches it grow as the raining picks up. “In here, we are whoever we want to be. Do whatever we want to do. Nothing can destroy us, it’s only you and me. But -” He takes a deep breath. “But the outside’s fragile. It’s real. Mortal and irrevocable. You can’t have everything you have here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Theon closes his eyes. “What would happen if I kissed you tomorrow morning?”

Robb frowns. “I would kiss you back, of course.”

That makes Theon smile. “Fair enough. What would happen if I did that in front of your father’s lords?”

“I...uh…”

“Exactly. You would be whisked away and my neck would be hastily introduced to your father’s dearest Ice.”

“You can’t be sure!”

“No, I can’t. But out there, I don’t have the luxury to risk being right.”

* * *

 

When next time on the shore Robb claims he has the solution, Theon grips his shoulders and pushes him under a wave.

“Don’t be an idiot. When we wake up, you must not do anything foolish, do you understand?”

Robb splutters glistening droplets. “You can’t stop me.”

* * *

 

Memory-Robb pulls memory-Theon into an awkward embrace, his fair skin turning the red of his hair. They watch in shared embarrassment as their memory-selves go on their way, both of them glancing back after a couple of steps.

Real-Robb touches his bottom lip absent-mindedly. “It felt different in the real world. Rougher.”

Theon scoffs. “You could say that. I’m just minding my own fucking business when out of literally nowhere, you jump me and stick your tongue straight down my throat.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Robb heaves a dreamy sigh that resembles Sansa far too much to his liking. “I don’t have the right words.”

Theon squints at him askance.

“Does that mean you don’t want to do it here anymore?”

Robb grins. “I want to do it all the time.”

* * *

 

Robb is swimming in molasses. He is struggling, the tacky liquid pulling him down. He remembers Theon’s tales about the kraken with its enormous tentacles that jerk you under, and in a blink of panic, he accidentally gulps in a mouthful of the sweet fluid. He coughs, flailing a little.

“You are officially the worst swimmer I have ever seen, truly terrible.” Theon sneers at him from the top of a table, clapping slowly. The soles of his feet disturb the clammy mass that’s spread out in the great dining hall of Winterfell, covering it from wall to wall.

“Whatever you are trying to accomplish, you’re failing it spectacularly.”

“Shut… up.” Robb pants, wrestles another meter forward.

“Really, Robb, what are you doing?”

“I have to get it.”

“What?”

“The thing that’s under my father’s chair. I’m not sure what it is.”

“You need serious help, mate.” Theon declares after Robb makes a pathetic gurgling noise. “Be still, I’m coming.”

His fingers snap and all of his clothes gets shed onto the wood. Robb’s jaw drops.

“See something you like?” Theon smirks confidently, posing in all his naked glory, then jumps head first into the treacle Robb’s stuck in like a fly in the jam. His route to the chairs and back is a smooth slip-slide that barely makes the surface ripple. At the end of it, Theon comes up right in front of Robb and flicks his nose with sticky fingers.

“There you go.” He says, showing him a golden key. “What does it open?”

Robb’s palm traces the slope of Theon’s shoulder along the line up to his neck, touches the juncture of that supple, delicious place. “My heart?”

Theon splashes goo in his face. “Stop being fucking girly. This must be the key to a treasure chest.”

He stares at Robb expectantly. Robb stares back, wanting a kiss. “Well, don’t you wanna find it?”

Robb shakes his head. “You can have it.”

“The whole thing?”

“Yeah. The whole thing.”

* * *

 

Robb is fifteen when Father takes him to the Wall. They visit Uncle Benjen there, who shows them what north from the North is really like. From the top of the world, Robb studies the distance and the vast spread of that deadly forest, thinks he sees the Night King pointing at him from the Land of Always Winter. His finger bears pale spiders that swarm out like blood floods from a cut throat. Robb shudders and retreats inside, vows never to come back if he can stay away.

Theon is already in his room, reclining on Robb’s bed like a Volantene whore. Naked legs spread, manhood barely concealed by a fur, he looks debauched without Robb putting a single finger on him.

“It’s too fucking cold in here.” He scoffs, stretching a little. “Come, warm me up.”

Robb chokes on his own saliva. “Maybe you should, uh, dress up?”

“I don’t feel like wearing clothes at the moment.” He pats the bed next to him. “Come now.”

Robb climbs onto the sheets gingerly, three feet away from Theon’s lap, just to be safe. His pants are getting much too tight for comfort.

“So. This is how Castle Black looks like, huh? I’m glad you chose to redream the trip, now I know a place I will never put a foot in.”

“I did not choose. It’s stuck in my mind.”

With no preamble whatsoever, Theon grabs Robb’s thighs and straddles his hips. In turn, Robb plasters himself to the headboard, trying to resist temptation, and blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

“Father took me to the northern side. It’s like death itself is living out there, waiting to catch you and shred you apart. I can’t believe Uncle Benjen goes into that forest voluntarily.”

“Mm, but you are so brave.” Theon gives him a dirty kiss, then nips at his jaw. “A good little lordling. I’m very proud of you.”

“Why do I feel like you are mocking me?”

“No idea.” Robb’s shirt gets torn off of him by an invisible force while Theon is sucking on his neck like a hungry vampire. The stone walls around them melt, a room of fire forms in their stead, and Robb whimpers, overwhelmed.

When Theon leans back and removes that indecent fur from his crotch, Robb makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise. He gawkes at the place where Theon’s thighs meet and mumbles, as if hypnotised. “You are brave too.”

“You don’t have to compliment me in order to touch that.” Theon laughs against his cheek, puts Robb’s trembling hand between his legs. “I’m a lot of things, but brave is not one of them.”

“Y-You just have to believe in yourself.”

“Well then…” Theon curls Robb’s fingers into a loose fist, keeps his own wrapped around them. “Will you help me believe, Robb Stark?” He murmurs into Robb’s mouth and their joined hands start moving up and down, up and down.

* * *

 

That same year, Theon loses his virginity.

“What do you mean you slept with her?” Robb exclaims.

That ugly _slut_ , Genna or something, parades her curvy, luscious body around as if she is getting ready for a go with Robb too. It’s the most repelling thing Robb has ever had the disfortune to see, and he’s only a hairsbreadth away from punching her in her snake-mouth.

“I fucked her. Put my stuff into hers.” Theon replies, lazily slouching on the bed where he must have replayed the memory earlier. Robb can make out the line of his spent cock under the thin, rumpled sheet on his lap. “Big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal! I thought we were going to do it together.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“How could you… and with a filthy _whore_ at that… I just… I can’t. I can’t do this right now. Go, leave, I don’t want to see you.”

“Robb, she’s a stupid prostitute, I have no feelings for her. It’s just sex. ”

“Get out.”

“You mean wake up.”

“Whatever.”

* * *

 

On the shore, in the shadows of that looming black castle, a little girl plays with memory-dices. A gang of shaggy boys runs out of the bushes, going for her menacingly. Robb’s just about to intervene when the girl stands up straight, squares her shoulders and grabs the wooden sword leant against the wall. As soon as the first kid reaches her, she swings her weapon and judged by the sickening crunch and his agonized scream, she shatters his kneecap. The other boys skid to a halt and gape at her dumbly. She sticks out her jaw.

“Anyone else wishing to be a cripple?”

The memory fades and the little girl is now standing by the castle gate, waving at a group of horsemen that are riding away. Her eyes are watery.

Robb turns to the side, spots Theon leaning against a cliff, watching her every move.

“Who’s she?”

“My sister, Yara.”

“She’s just like Arya.” Robb chuckles. “They would get along like two peas in a pod.”

They glance at each other for a second, then Theon’s mouth stretches into a slow grin. “They would totally kill each other.”

Both of them break into laughter at that and next thing Robb knows, he has an arm around Theon’s neck and Theon’s thumbs are circling his hipbones.

“Will you forgive me?” Sobering up, Theon seems anxious about the answer and somehow it irks Robb to no end. He doesn’t pull away from the embrace, though.

“For what? Fucking your way through every single brothel in a hundred miles?”

“It was a mistake. And we weren’t together by then.”

“Why did you do it? To punish me? Or to laugh at me behind my back?”

“ _No,_ Robb, no.” Theon presses his fingers harder into Robb’s flesh. “I’ve wanted to figure out who I am without you. In the stupidest way possible, I admit.”

“And? Have you?”

Theon leans his head forward and slides his arms fully around Robb’s torso until they are properly hugging. His jaw digs into Robb’s shoulder when he speaks. “It depends.”

Robb sighs in defeat, lets Theon keep this one for himself. He breathes in the seasalt scent of Theon’s hair, ignoring the cold nose that pokes into his neck, and kisses Theon’s brow.

“I forgive you.”

* * *

 

Robb curls around Theon, envelopes him from behind as they relax on the coast. The rhythmic rise and fall of Theon’s chest seems to echo in the waves crushing against naked cliffs, _in, out, in, out._

“I asked Maester Luwin about us.” Robb confesses quietly.

Theon goes stiff as a board. “You did _what_?”

“Not about this!” Robb replies in a rush. “About the dream thing. And I didn’t tell him it’s you.”

“God” Theon lets out a breath and goes limp again. “You almost woke me up.”

“Are you ashamed?” Robb asks, his tone subdued. Theon scoffs and turns around in his arms.

“I’m not ashamed, I want to stay fucking alive. Honestly, do you think I wouldn’t announce it to the whole world if I had the chance?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t play coy. You know I would.”

There’s a minute of tension when neither of them speaks and the only noise breaking the silence is the seagulls’ shrieking.

“What did the maester had to say?” Theon prompts eventually.

“He said there are about half a dozen ancient texts in Oldtown about people who are... connected. It’s not  clear how, by dreams or something else, but according to a Dornish maester the connection is for life. It means we are some kind of mates, I suppose. The _’connected’_ don’t always meet, so we are very lucky.”

Theon winces. “Are we?”

“Don’t you think we are?”

“Seems pretty bleak to me, being chained to another soul until the gory end. What if you hate each other?”

“I don’t think I can ever hate you.”

“Hope you are right about that, little lord.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But it fits. You are gonna be a lord soon enough and, well…” Theon makes a suggestive glance down.

“You ass, I’m _so_ not little.”

“Might have to remind me, I can’t seem to remember -”

Robb cuffs the back of his head and they grapple, laughing in wet sand.

* * *

 

It’s not long after Theon’s seventeenth nameday that Robb lets him take his innocence. It’s a stormy night in Winterfell and Theon breaks into his room in nothing but his night clothes, claiming he is cold. It’s hauntingly similar to their dream about the Wall, but this time Robb offers to... _help_ without prompting. After, sticky, spent and exhilarated, they slumber together and Robb makes them relive it in their sleep.

“Like that” Robb moans and only raises an eyebrow at the snickering that comes from his right.

“How many times are you going to redream this?”

“As many as I can. I want to dream about this till the end of my life.”

Theon laughs. “You do not wish that.”

Robb hums, strokes through memory-Theon’s hair as he kisses down Robb’s chest. “Wouldn’t be the hardest of fates, I’d imagine.”

“And what about me?”

“You can join us. Then I’d get two of you and I’d die a happy man.”

“Greedy.” Theon murmurs and kisses him, just as memory-Theon works Robb’s breeches open. When their lips part, Theon glances down at memory-himself and snorts.

“There’s one thing about memories, though.”

“What is it?” Robb asks, eyes closed against the pleasure slowly working its way up his spine.

“You can’t really recall the things you don’t remember.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look.”

Robb looks down and sees memory-Theon smile at him, then he goes all blurry and the words he says dissolve like blood in water. Robb sits up.

“What was that, what did you say, I don’t -”

“- you don’t remember, yeah. You can imagine I said-”

“I love you.” Memory-Theon whispers, but it’s not right, too muffled, too… wrong.

“- or you can imagine I said -”

“You taste better than any whore I’ve had before.” Robb gapes at memory-Theon, who gives him a wicked smirk. It’s wrong, so wrong.

“You see now, don’t you?” Theon asks with a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t live in a memory. Parts of it are gonna fade, you’ll wear them out, and then what’s left? Imagined conversations that are all wrong, but can never sound any better.”

* * *

 

“Theon?”

“Yes?”

“When someone dies, do you believe that they go on somewhere else?” Robb asks one night while he’s astride Theon’s lap, rocking in a leisurely rhythm. It’s a rather different kind of riding than what they did as children, but not less enjoyable. This has fast become Robb’s favourite position for sex - no better way to give back some of Theon’s constant teasing. And there’s no hurry to finish this time, they have the whole night to dream. Robb plans on using it all.

“What is dead may never die, but, ah -" Theon replies in a monotone, even though his grip on the back of Robb’s thighs tightens and his voice trembles. “- rises again, harder and stronger.”

They have been joking around on the crispy clear sky, painting clouds in all sizes and shapes, when Robb has tugged Theon back to the ground and into the Godswood to lay him down on blood-red leaves and make love.

“So… you think what is dead... will live again?”

“No.” Robb stifles a smile. He circles Theon’s nipples with his fingers wet from saliva and Theon breathes in, breathes out, bites his lip. “Can we discuss this later?”

“I want to know.”

It’s fascinating, really, the way Theon’s brain so obviously blanks out every time Robb presses down on him. He’s flushed all the way to his abs and his chest is decorated with faint red lines that Robb’s nails scratched into his skin.

“What’s dead is dead.” He forces out, a vein popping on his temple in strain. “It rots under the ground, wild animals eat up its flesh or the wind blows away its ashes. It’s gone, okay?”

“But you said -”

“That’s just a stupid thing they say on the Iron Islands.”

“What if one of us...goes?” Robb asks and girates his hips, delights in the struggle he sees on Theon’s face, in his frown lines. He picks up the pace a little, makes Theon groan and pant.

“Then” He grits out between his teeth. “the other will remember him.”

“But memories fade. I don’t want… Is there anything we could do? To keep a memory sharp.”

“I don’t know, Robb… Please… Let’s talk later.”

“I promise you I’ll find a way.” Robb swears and squeezes his thighs tighter, lets himself loose in the pleasure. “I promise.”

* * *

 

They are walking on snow so deep it covers the heads of kitchen maids and septas. Above, a wolf-constellation curls around the moon on an endless black plain. Robb yanks on Theon’s hand and they fall, down, down, down, until they are lying on a sturdy bed of white-hot desire. Everything is clear and silent - Robb can listen to Theon’s heartbeats as if they were music. Winter might really be coming this time, but he isn’t cold at all with someone to share his world with. Theon presses him into the sheets, their fabric shimmering want, and Robb strokes his arms, up and down, up and down. He says “I love you.”

Theon doesn’t say it back in words, but in kisses and touch, in the way he breathes against Robb’s naked skin. The heat in his sea-blue eyes feel all-consuming. Winterfell’s walls crumble until it’s only them and their bed of desire, and Robb’s words, whispered in time with Theon’s pulse.

“I love you. I love you. I love -”

* * *

 

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Robb grumbles. John Arryn died and King Robert is now riding on the Kingsroad to Winterfell. He’s coming for Father, Robb’s pretty sure of that.

Theon hums an affirmative. “The king coming all the way this north? Nothing good has ever come from that.”

They are lying on their backs in a pile of hay, Robb’s head pillowed on Theon’s shoulder. The setting sun paints the scenery a vivid orange colour, makes their twined hands almost glow in its light. The direwolf pup Robb has adopted after the deserter’s execution jumps onto his belly, forcing him to huff and groan in pain.

“Ow, boy, you are far too heavy for that.”

Theon, the bastard, laughs at him. He untangles their hands and stretches his out for the pup to sniff. Even though it has almost stabbed him with a knife, the little wolf licks it and butts it with his head.

“He likes me.” Theon remarks smugly.

“Like hell. He’s just too tired to bite you in the ass.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Theon’s fingers are combing through Robb’s curls and the pup settles down to sleep on his abdomen, sunlight warming them all. It’s the best dream Robb can ever wish to have.

“His name’s Grey Wind.”

“Wow. So imaginative.” Theon drawls and Robb can practically hear him grinning.

“Shut up. I named him after something dear to me.”

“What, storm clouds?”

“... _right_.”

Theon keeps up the serene stroking through Robb’s hair until his sleepy-sluggish mind catches up, but when realisation hits, his palm splays flat over Robb’s forehead.

“Wait. Did you name your wolf after _me_?”

He sounds so freaked out by the gesture that Robb beats a hasty retreat. “No, the grey is from the, uh, banners. Yeah. The grey wolf from the banners. I love it.”

“You are full of shit, Robb Stark.”

* * *

 

Robb’s looking up at an enormous candle that’s easily the size of Hodor. Its light illuminates a tower of books, their spines thicker than Robb’s waist. He can see Theon on the other end of the giant table they are standing on, trying to wrench one of those huge books open.

“Care to help? We need to find records about the villages around Deepwood Motte, Lord Glover asked for -”

“What is this?” Robb interrupts, spreading his arms to gesture around.

“Your desk, of course.”

“But it’s freaking big!”

Theon strolls over to him and traces the dark circle under one of Robb’s eyes. “Just like the responsibility, Lord Stark.”

“That’s my father.”

Shaking his head, Theon locks his arms around Robb’s neck. “He’s not here to take the title and the duties with it. _You_ _are_.”

“It’s too much, I’m not ready. My mother -”

“Your mother is lost to her grief. She will not rule Winterfell.”

Theon’s right hand moves down and cups Robb’s cock through his pants, squeezes enough to make Robb squeak. “You are no boy anymore. Be the man you were born to become.”

* * *

 

Theon has a bow made of disappointment, its arrow of hurt pointing between Robb’s eyes, a steady line. Robb blinks at him in surprise and tries to speak, but Theon shoots. His hand doesn’t shake.

 

“You woke me up!” Robb fumes as soon as he falls asleep again and gets back into the dream. It’s in the forest where those wildlings captured Bran. Theon’s sitting on the trunk of the same fallen tree they have been talking on in real life.

“Oh, you noticed?”

“Why did you do it?”

Theon shrugs and throws a stone on a stray raven. It flies away and caws back at them indignantly from afar. “I didn’t miss, did I? When I _want to_ shoot someone, I shoot them. I would never hit something I don’t want to hit.”

So it’s about _that_ thing. Robb closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be grateful forever that you saved Bran, but I was scared for him. _I’m sorry._ ”

“It’s okay. I’m just the hostage, it’s not my place to get offended by your words.”

“Theon…”

“So, do you have an order for me, my lord? If not, I might as well wake up. As your loyal servant, I have things to do.”

“Don’t be like that, you aren’t a servant. And I love you.”

When Robb presses a palm to the side of his face, Theon turns his head away. “Please. I really am sorry. About the whole day. Can we forget it?”

“Why? You only said the truth. _Not my family_ , indeed.”

Robb takes his hand away and hangs his head, cursing himself for being an insensitive idiot.

“It was not the truth, it was only frustration. I didn’t mean that at all.”

When Theon still refuses to make eye contact, Robb tries a new tactic. “I can make it up to you.” He attempts a seductive leer as soon as Theon glances at him. It successfully elicits a chuckle.

“That was awful. You are much better at puppy eyes.” Relieved beyond belief, Robb smiles and touches Theon’s knee. Theon’s hand twitches, then cautiously slides on top of Robb’s.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“Are we good?” When Robb sits next to him, Theon leans into his side.

“Yes, of course.”

* * *

 

They are inside an ever shrinking glass ball, big, hungry lions circling around on the other side. The rain is soaking everything outside and Robb can almost hear a violin playing _that_ song. _With no one there to hear..._

“Robb, you have to calm down.” Theon urges and hugs him from behind. “The Lannisters aren’t going to win. They are too arrogant and that’s going to take them into their doom.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m sure because I believe in you.”

Outside, in the mud, two of the lions turn against each other and fight until they are hardly more than bloody pulps. Theon’s hold tightens around Robb’s torso.

“That’s right. They are too busy with themselves to pay attention to us.”

The lion with the biggest mane runs at the thin wall separating them, almost makes it crack. He’s getting ready for another try when out of the woods behind him, a pack of wolves slink out, their eyes glowing red. The other, smaller lions flee like the cowards they are, only the one with the big mane remains. The pack jumps onto him, leaves him maneless, wounded and limping.

Theon kisses Robb behind his ear, then moves back to a friendly distance. “Are you afraid?”

“Not anymore.” Robb replies and presses his forehead against the cool surface of their ball. Bloody raindrops trickle down on the outside.

* * *

 

On their flower-meadow, the summer sunshine is gone. Theon’s sitting beside a bunch of daisies, plucking them out one by one.

“Why don’t you kiss me anymore?” Robb asks.

“You are a promised man, I have no right to kiss you.”

“You can’t be serious.” When Theon keeps tearing out flowers, Robb goes on. “I don’t know anything about Walder Frey’s daughters and I sure as hell don’t want either of them. But I’ll do what I must to free my father and get back my sisters. I thought you understood.”

“Oh I do, really. I would do the same if I still had a family.”

“You have one.”

“You mean the one I am the hostage of? Or the one I haven’t heard a word from in years?”

Robb slips to his knees in front of him and shakes his shoulders. “I mean me!”

Theon throws ripped out flowers into his face. “You are not mine, but Roslin Frey’s.”

“Are you jealous? Oh my gods, you are fucking jealous. Theon _“all the whores’re crying for my cock”_ is jealous of a maiden I haven’t even met.”

“Shut your mouth. You said you wouldn’t bring that up.”

Until now, Robb has been confused, but now he’s just angry and wants to _hurt_.

“I did now. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to punch your fucking face.”

“You can’t hit me, I’m your lord.”

Theon’s expression darkens into something dangerous. “Not here.”

He growls and breaks Robb’s nose. They roll around fighting on that meadow of flowers, spitting curses at each other, and soil the earth bloody next to a bunch of torn out daisies.

* * *

 

“You had to see that. Maybe it could have waited some more, but I think you are strong enough to take it. One day, you are going to be the lord of this place, Robb. You have to know what that means.” Eddard Stark says to his four-year-old little boy, who’s shaking like a leaf and has a fist stuffed into his mouth.

“Do you want to be a good lord?”

Memory-Robb nods, rubbing one of his tearful eyes with his free hand.

“Then tell me, what did you learn today?”

The head of a murderer lies in front of them, blood flooding from his cut throat. Memory-Robb glances at the deadman’s rolled back eyes, then takes his fist out of his mouth and straightens his back.

“The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” He says it as fiercely as his tiny four-year-old voice can, despite his still trembling lower lip. His father raises from his crouch in front of him and takes his hand, heedless of the drool dripping from it in fat droplets.

“I’m proud of you, son.” He says and on the ride back, he lets Robb sit on the same horse with him.

 

“Is that why you keep having nightmares about cut throats?” Theon asks him quietly, but Robb doesn’t answer. Strangely, they are in the Whispering Wood, under the trees they hid behind to surprise their enemy. Robb looks at the place where he knows he won that battle and feels empty, carved out. It was all in vain, calling the banners, going south, killing hundreds of men. Eddard Stark, lord of Winterfell, is gone.

One of the memory-dices Robb has been rolling around in his hand starts glowing. Robb lets it swell out until they are back in Winterfell, on a long gone morning that’s so far away that it seems like a whole different life by now.

 

“Ned!”

“My lady.”

His mother runs into his father’s arms, all of them glad for his lucky return, and happiness beams from every corner. Memory-Theon is standing next to an exhausted horse, tear-tracks on his face. His father sweeps Robb into his arms and presses a kiss to his cheek, holds him close and breathes into his skin. _My son._

The memory dissipates as if it was mere smoke and Robb reaches out for his father’s face, but nothing’s there. He’s dead. Gone.

Tossed back into the Whispering Wood, Robb collapses, crying. Theon carefully hugs him to his chest, lets him soak his shirt with a river of tears, and rocks them into oblivion, a dreamless sort of sleep.

* * *

 

They float around in lukewarm nothing, in darkness and silence.

“You’re dreaming abouth death.”

“I suppose.”

“Even death can’t be this desolate.” Theon says and dreams them the stars. Their light flickers in Theon’s eyes, turns the blue dark and etheral. Theon reaches out and makes a crown, a crown of starlight just for Robb, puts it on his head.

“King in the North.”

Robb crashes their mouths together. It feels final, their kiss, and is all the more desperate for it. Theon’s hand touches the side of Robb’s neck and Robb’s pulse beats _dum, dum, dum_ against his palm.

* * *

 

Robb’s standing in a room of mirrors, bare. From their surface a thousand Robbs are staring at their thousand reflections. When Robb moves, they move with him, when he breaks, they break with him, when he falls to the floor their shards fall and cut into his naked body. He’s lying on the remains of a thousand other lives when Theon steps up to his head.

He’s holding a bow made of pride, the arrow chiseled longing. Its head points between Robb’s eyes, a steady line.

“Do it.” Theon’s hand shakes and he misses.

“You can’t even betray me properly, can you?” Robb hisses.

Theon’s bow clatters to the ground. He opens his mouth, a ribbon of apologies forming, but Robb doesn’t wait them out.

* * *

 

“My lords don’t follow my command, my brother… my _lover_ betrays me, my goddamn mother acts against my orders, what kind of king I am? How can I lead an army, how can I win this fucking war if I can’t even trust those who share my blood? How do I do it, Father, how?” Robb rants, helpless. Memory-Ned smiles at memory-Robb, gives him an applause after he wins in sparring against Ser Rodrik. Memory-Theon’s mouth curls in a way that suggests they are going to have sex that night. Robb turns away in disgust, comes face to face with real-Theon.

“No.” Robb bites out, grinding his teeth.

Theon grabs his arm. “Please, just hear me out, I don’t expect you to -”

“Good. You have no right to expect anything.” Robb wrenches himself away, but Theon catches his wrist, tugs him back a step.

“Please, Robb, I love you -”

“Don’t. Ever. Touch me. Again.” Robb growls into his face and wakes up.

* * *

 

“Don’t, please don’t, I will do anything you want, I swear, just please don’t cut it off!”

It’s Theon, bowing and begging for mercy in front of a coal-black hare. Robb is so bewildered by the sight that he forgets they aren’t friends anymore.

“Theon?”

“ _No_ .” Theon reacts to him with such a horrified expression that Robb takes a step back. “No, no, no, just not him, not Robb. Look, _look,_ I’m right here, you can have me, you can have anything. Just not him, please take me instead.”

The coal-black hare hops over to Robb, considers him with surprisingly human eyes. They look cruel and cunning. Theon crawls after it desperately, like his life depends on it not reaching Robb.

The hare starts growing, sprouts arms and shoulders, its tail turns into pants, until a stocky young man is smiling up at Robb with the exact same cruelty in his eyes. He is not wearing a shirt, but his pale torso is covered - in bloody swordcuts.

Robb looks back at Theon, who has a bow of mercy and an arrow made of selfless love pointing between Robb’s eyes, a steady line. His tears drop, drop, drop as he shoots, but his hand doesn’t shake.

* * *

 

Something’s hiding in the darkest alcove of that old, looming castle. Its hair’s white, its teeth are missing, some of its fingers are cut off. A cloud of blood and dirt hangs above its head, stinking like rotten flesh, but Robb pays it to no mind. The thing is suffering, but it’s still alive, still fighting - Robb has to help. He reaches out and offers it a sea-shell of water, but that poor, tortured thing scrambles away from his hand.

* * *

 

There’s a moment before everything turns into nothing and time stops. In that moment Robb’s on the shore again, the waves crushing against naked cliffs like a lullaby. He feels so very tired.

He sits on the wall of a black castle, looks down into the chasm. Sky-blue petals fall from the clouds, a single ship fights against thunder in the distance. Down in the grass of a flower-meadow, Robb spots a sea-shell. He drifts over to it and wipes his finger on its empty inside. A thread of blood snakes out from his wrist and paints words in his nicest cursive on that ivory skeleton of some once-lived creature.

Robb thinks of his wife and Father and Mother and Sansa, thinks of Grey Wind and Winterfell and the North, thinks of heat in sea-blue eyes on a white northern evening. He thinks of home and rocks himself into oblivion, a dreamless sort of sleep.

* * *

 

Theon’s walking on snow so deep that it covers the corpses of dead kitchen maids and septas, up to their necks in blood. Up above, a wolf-constellation lies on an endless black plain with arrows in its hide. Theon slips and falls, down, down, down to where everything’s white and silent.

“Are you always this cold?” A red-haired boy asks with his legs folded under himself.

“Nowadays I am.”

Winterfell’s walls crumble and they are standing on the seashore. A black castle looms above them, memory-dices lying forgotten in the mud. The boy’s no boy anymore, but Robb Stark, King in the North, starlight crown on his head.

“Are you a memory?” Theon asks, hot tears dribbling down his cheeks in languid rivulets.

“No.”

They walk over to a rock that’s a chrystal that’s a pearl-shell. Theon crouches and wipes a finger on its empty inside.

“Then you are a dream.”

Robb takes his hand, strokes his intact thumb over Theon’s damaged knuckles.

“I’m something he left here for you. Something to remember him by.” Sea-shell morphs into forest green chiffon, blood-red words woving into the fabric.

_Now and always_

“I’m a keepsake.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for getting this far. :)


End file.
